Hollow Midnight
by NnyFangurl
Summary: Johnny reflects.. no good at summaries. Just R+R.


Hollow Midnight  
  
  
  
  
* Nny_Fangurl  
Notes: Depression is fun. Anyway, some short thing I scribbled up. However, it's my first JtHM fanfic. Die-ary entry is my own creation. I tried. Anyway, hopefully, it won't be the last..  
Disclaimer: Johnny C. belongs to Jhonen Vasquez. All material is rightfully to him. Lyrics are to "Psycho Man."  
  
  
  
The midnight hour approaches  
The killing chill takes over him  
His victims will not know when he appears  
The lust of deaths possesion  
will over take his pshyco mind  
He won't be happy till he smells their fear  
He's the angel of death, angel of death  
Psycho Man, Psycho Man  
  
  
  
  
  
Lord screeching of a teenager had stopped an hour ago. An hour ago. But it felt like ten minutes ago. That the figure, bathed in moonlight, and the dim lighting of the basement, had torn that metallic blade. That had ended his life with a few gashes to the throat. To scream one last time. Before all senses went blank. Eyes fillered out life, and had died along with the soul. A star burnt out. A light, tarnished. This one was buried in the backyard. T'was all a hollow feeling to the warped young killer.  
  
  
  
The digital clock apporched the midnight hour. It's dim lighting signaled that the battery was low, plus it was dented, and had dryed blood smeared across the top of it, along the button that was usually pressed to stop the drowning screech of the alarm. It's coppery scent still inhabited. A figure, slumped in a corner of the room, a deathly skinny young man, who's appearance would be frightening th witness the first time a pair of pupils set their gaze on him. This man, wa sknown as Johnny C. No, no. Johnny was not like normal people. Anything but, in fact.  
  
He slumped farther downward, until the back of his skull made heavy impact with the wall. Johnny sighed, and reached his hand out. Reaching for the luminous streak of moonlight that echoed from that one broken down window. It had long before jammed, only opening slightly. Paint chipped off, exposing the bare wall under it. Dirty clustered against the fine plated glass. But this didn't seem to bother him. His hand felt warmth.   
  
  
  
Warmth..  
  
  
  
Something he longed to have more often. The rest of his frame relaxed in the shadows, pale light struggling to outline his pale features. However, he would not allow that. His eyes were directed at the ground, tracing the fine lines between the cracks of the floorboard of the room. As well as the dried blood that was splattered here and there, on the ground. Each telling a story. A story that marked beyond wording, violent killings. One after another. Johnny closed his eyes. Quiet. Serene. Pierced by deathly terrified screaming of agony, as well as gibberish that sounds like words.   
  
Each a blinding, hollow silhouette. And soon the screaming stops. The blood trails, and Johnny is left once more with himself. Slowly, after thoughts of this, he stood to his feet. He did this slowly to allow time for his knees not to buckle. Gathered himself together, and went and stood by the window. A hand traced it's palm against the glass. Finding it cold. He stared upward, into the stars of the nightsky, as well as the bright sphere.  
  
  
"Dear Die-ary, I look to the stars with lies in my eyes. I come to see the moon with a hollow peace of mind. I look up for something, something and anything. However, I soon fine myself looking into a void. A void of endless pits. The pits that have no meaning, as well as no beginning nor end. And I seem to remind myself, that I am waiting for a answer that would never come." He finished it there. He didn't feel like writing that night. So it was done, straight from thoughts. However, with no ink to go on a piece of blank line paper.  
  
Rustling, in the next room caught his attention, and he snapped his attention toward sthe closed door. That was coming down too. T'was because of all the times that he'd kicked, or violently threw somebody into and through it. He bit his bottom lip, and stared with a bitter expression. Yes, he had some unfinished work to complete. That clerk. The one who had thrown him out of the movie threaters. There is no such thing as laughing too loud. The guy was just being a prick.  
  
  
The figure that was once in the shadows, the figure that was once outlined by the pale glistening of the sphere beaming in the nightsky, disappeared again. He disappeared behind a closed door. A quiet atmosphere, was filled with a bloodcurling screech. There they came again. The images, and the terrified expressions and yelps. Just as blood spilled, and the screaming began to grow faint, the digital clock chirped 1:10 A.M.   
  
  
  
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A/N: Like it? Hate it? I could do better.   
Please tell me. Feel free to offer any suggestions. 


End file.
